


Ozymandias

by cousin_valdoth



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Time War Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27970718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cousin_valdoth/pseuds/cousin_valdoth
Summary: I met a traveler from an antique landWho said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,Tell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:And on the pedestal these words appear:‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’Nothing beside remains. Round the decayOf that colossal wreck, boundless and bareThe lone and level sands stretch far away.”- Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley
Kudos: 2





	1. Look On My Works

Susan.

It was Susan who had died.

The Doctor’s fist tightens around the time clamp he holds in his hand. His forehead is beaded with sweat; shatterfrying is a tricky business, you know, and especially when it’s a Type Forty TARDIS console’s harmonic resonator you’re trying to repair.

_ one day _

His eyes close, and his eyelids tighten. He focuses his psychic energy, trying to cast away the memories, the screams, the burning, but tonight seems like it’ll be another bad one. The harmonic resonator sings out to him psychically, further complicating his attempts. His eyes remain screwed shut.

_ i shall come back. yes, i shall come back _

The timeclamp sparks, and he startles and drops it. He grunts in frustration, clambering out from under the console and wiping neuronic zetafluid from his hands with an old rag. His face twists.

_ until then _

His granddaughter- she was his granddaughter-

_ there must be no regrets _

It had been a Time Lord weapon, a stray blast- something so trivial, so stupid, a mundane death for Susan Foreman- his damn granddaughter-

_ no tears _

He’s hitting the ground now, with some scientific instrument he probably has a million of laying about, and it’s hardly making a dent nor a scratch, yet some part of him wants it to-

_ no anxieties _

Wants

_ just go forward _

It

_ in all your beliefs _

To

_ and prove to me  _

Matter

_ that i am not mistaken in mine. goodbye susan, goodbye my dear... _

Tears fall now, and he screams as he throws the instrument down at the floor. It finally breaks, its outer shell cracking and spilling masses of tiny gears and tubing and circuitguts onto the unmarred floor. He stands up, needing to do something to occupy himself-

_ her skeleton lies at his feet. the bones relax into dust _

The TARDIS has begun taking off ,  some part of him notes. Surely off on some adventure to distract him, after all, somewhere, the tea is getting cold, right? He runs his hands through his hair in agitation, still crying, still unable to push away the memories. 

_and she is gone_


	2. ...and despair!

Yarvelling’s Church burns, and the Doctor laughs. It’s not a mirthful laugh; it’s not one born out of joy. Tears streak through the coating of soot on his face, as he doubles over and heaves. Screams bellow over the din of crackling flame- Dalek, Thaal, Cyberman, Trelisctians, and Time Lords all scream as they burn. The Doctor drops to his knees, and screams at the warping sky. In his hand, the Moment twists and morphs and shifts, trying to find its proper form in this dimension. The Doctor thinks back to Yarvelling’s last words.

_ ‘Do you really trust yourself with that, Time Lord?’ _

He takes great, gasping breaths, trying to calm himself. He reaches out, psychically, to Gallifrey, but the warping continuum in the atmosphere doesn’t let his mind pass. He grunts in frustration. The roof of the Church caves in. Mentally, he tries to note how many screams that had cut short. He gives up shortly. Over the din of the fire, he heard that familiar wheeze, and tightens his grip on his staser. He had overstepped his bounds. Surely now the Time Lords would rain judgement down upon him?

When he turns to the noise, he nearly drops his weapon.

It’s that old faithful blue box- cleaner looking, less banged up- maybe even a little larger? If it was his... dimensional leakage would explain the size discrepancy. Impossible, though- what he planned to do with the Moment... he would have no future. 

The door opens, and out steps a young man- a young man who looks just as shocked to see the Doctor. 

“Who are you, and what’re you doing in my TARDIS?” The Doctor asks, though he knows that isn’t exactly his TARDIS. The other man, the other possibly him, doesn’t answer. He looks stricken, his head whipping around from the burning church, to the Doctor, to the warping sky. He’s mumbling to himself. The Doctor listens.

“...isn’t possible... the lock... the timelock is impenetrable... I’ve tried, Rassilon help me I’ve tried...” now he was pacing, wringing his hands, mind moving a mile a minute. The Doctor knows now, could see himself. This man, this Doctor, is computing the information, determining whether he’d been thrust into a simulation, or perhaps was he dreaming? The Doctor aims his staser at the man more steadily.

“How far along are you?” He asks, a bit more gently then he’d intended. The man stops, and looks at him, straight in the eyes.

“Far enough to remember.”

The Doctor with a staser and the universe destroying weapon in either hand nods. He lowers the staser. He was in his eighth body, give or take (his memory was quite fuzzy when it came to that). This one, though perhaps younger than any of his previous forms, was definitely in his future. Which begs the question...

“I plan on timelocking this war. The Nightmare Child has already spat out Skaro and two Gallifreys. The Time Lords intend to replicate Earth and fire it at the thing, before it comes to Gallifrey Original. The Could’ve Been King has the Ghost Remnant on his front with him. Every indication states that this is the end. You know this. So you should know that you being here... well, is impossible.”

“You’re right,” the younger Doctor says. “It is impossible.” 

That’s all he can manage to say, before his legs seem to grow shaky and he places his palm flat on the TARDIS.

“Where... where is Susan?” He asks. The older man raises a quizzical eyebrow.

“Susan? I suppose in the Cloisters, communing with the Sliders.” The Doctor thinks for a moment- yes, surely she was doing that, that was very Susan- before he clocked the other Doctor’s reaction. He opened his mouth to speak, but when he looked at the other man’s face, his words failed him.

He swears it’s the first time he truly feels his hearts break.


End file.
